The Wistful Voyage

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2026-08-23 10:56:09 -

The ledger was heavy, bound in cracked leather that smelled of damp wool and old ink. Elias Thorne held it in both hands, his fingers trembling not from the cold, but from the erratic, skipping rhythm of his own heart, a metronome breaking time. He sat in the upper gallery of St. Jude’s Abbey, a place of stone and silence that had been chosen for its isolation, yet which now felt like a cage...

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